I'm Not a "Rules Girl", I'm An Asshole

Is this how Minnie snagged Mickey?

I admit it: I just read The Rules: Time Tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right. I felt like reading something hilarious, and I assumed that I would have broken every single rule in the book repeatedly. Not so. Each rule fell into two camps: one that I did the exact opposite of (Don't talk too much) and stuff that I actually did (Don't call him and rarely return his calls). The stuff I got right though, wasn't because I'm a "Rules Girl" it's because I'm an asshole.

The thing is, this book has some truths. It's not ALL bad. The authors have sound advice for women that are like so desperate for a boyfriend that they have abandoned all other aspects of their lives and go to extreme desperate measures to stalk any man that looks at them twice. The message to them is, "Men are competitive and will do anything they can to get a woman they want. If he wants you, you shouldn't have to do a thing. Stop over-analyzing everything and freaking out. Just focus being a better you."

The authors assume that every woman is a psycho man hunter, and also that their relationship goals involve the following (I think that's what this list is, anyway. It was somewhat randomly included without much explanation why, under "Rule #33: Do The Rules and You'll Live Happily Ever After!" which just seems confusing to me, anyway:)

• When you are seated at a booth in a restaurant, he slides over and sits next to you.
• He sends you roses after sex.
• He writes love notes or poetry for you and tapes them on the refrigerator door.
• He gets angry when you don't pay attention to him. He wants your constant attention.
• He is always ready to make up after a fight. What kind of pussy is "always ready to make up"?
• He gets involved in every aspect of your life.
• When you have a cold or become ill, he still wants to be with you.
• He always wants the phone number of where you are so he can get in touch with you. (This is like what abusers do to their battered wives.)
• He doesn't like it when you go to bachelorette parties. I'm sorry, there's a problem here.

The list is much longer, but you get the idea. (I underlined the most terrifying stuff.)

Of course, some of the rules are just plain bad. And those are the best (= worst):

• Before he comes to your apartment, tuck this book away, hide in the closet anything you don't want him to see, such as a bottle of Prozac.

• When writing a personal ad: "Don't try to be different. Remember, he has a lot of other letters to read. End the note by saying something like, "Well, I'm off to my aerobics class. Hope to hear form you soon." Keep it light!" (101)
• In High School: Go to the beach, not in your room dwelling on your flaws or quoting Sylvia Plath. Don't chew gum and cackle. Seem self-contained even if you're lonely and bored to death. Notice what kinds of clothes, shoes, bags, jewelry, and hairstyles the most popular kids are wearing. Don't try to be too different or frugal in this area. To see what's hot and not, subscribe to Seventeen and Glamour. Don't you like boys who wear Polo shirts and cowboy boots when that's in fashion?
• Remember, overweight is not The Rules.
• Don't sit in your room alone on Friday and Saturday nights reading Jean-Paul Sartre.
• Don't go away with a man for a week. Save it for your honeymoon! You might act too wifey -- telling him to watch his fat intake or giving him advice about a family or business problem.

To add to the book's charm, the authors have pretty much included the phrase "The Rules" in every other sentence, and about one third of the sentences end with a "!" Fortunately, the text is not pink and the i's are not dotted with hearts. That's about the only difference between this book and a 1950's teen's diary.